The only acceptable reason for this is if this character is actually a demon who seduces men and then eats them. [source]
who wrote this, expose him
my breasts are nicely separated. Completely divided, every year they move apart by half an inch.
My breasts are nicely separated though they still fight for custody of the children.
I,,a woman,,,am WiDeR LOweR dOwN
That was difficult to read.
So ugly
My name is Ebony D’arkness Dementia Raven Way, and my breasts are nicely separated
OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT AND HOW ON EARTH DID IT GET PUBLISHED
You can always tell when it’s a man writing a description because they focus oddly on the breasts. There will always be something about breasts and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read historical or fantasy fiction and they talk about “her breasts hanging freely under her tunic” or what the fuck ever and it’s like…women don’t do that? We don’t describe ourselves by saying “I have blonde hair and blue eyes and my breasts hang freely under my tunic”. I kind of feel like we should counter by awkwardly mentioning all male character’s balls in their description. It’s kind of in the same vein.
“I have auburn hair and hazel eyes and my copious nicely separated balls hangs freely under my breeches”
G E T W I D E R L O W E R D O W N
“To get back to my body”
This is the first time I saw this post with art and I am in tears.
Reblogging again because IT HAS BEEN ILLUSTRATED NOW 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂
Im actually laughing so hard omg
end harpy shaming 2k18
Also pleats are for fabric, plaits are for hair
Like, I’m trying to imagine pleated hair. Is that like a bad 80s crimp job or something?
there’s something endlessly hilarious to me about the phrase “hotly debated” in an academic context. like i just picture a bunch of nerds at podiums & one’s like “of course there was a paleolithic bear cult in Northern Eurasia” and another one just looks him in the eye and says “i’l kill you in real life, kevin”
I heard a story once about two microbiologists at a conference who took it out into the parking lot to have a literal fistfight over taxonomy.
have i told this story yet? idk but it’s good. The Orangutan Story:
my american lit professor went to this poe conference. like to be clear this is a man who has a doctorate in being a book nerd. he reads moby dick to his four-year-old son. and poe is one of the cornerstones of american literature, right, so this should be right up his alley?
wrong. apparently poe scholars are like, advanced. there is a branch of edgar allen poe scholarship that specifically looks for coded messages based on the number of words per line and letters per word poe uses. my professor, who has a phd in american literature, realizes he is totally out of his depth. but he already committed his day to this so he thinks fuck it! and goes to a panel on racism in poe’s works, because that’s relevant to his interests.
background info: edgar allen poe was a broke white alcoholic from virginia who wrote horror in the first half of the 19th century. rule 1 of Horror Academia is that horror reflects the cultural anxieties of its time (see: my other professor’s sermon abt how zombie stories are popular when people are scared of immigrants, or that purge movie that was literally abt the election). since poe’s shit is a product of 1800s white southern culture, you can safely assume it’s at least a little about race. but the racial subtext is very open to interpretation, and scholars believe all kinds of different things about what poe says about race (if he says anything), and the poe stans get extremely tense about it.
so my professor sits down to watch this panel and within like five minutes a bunch of crusty academics get super heated about poe’s theoretical racism. because it’s academia, though, this is limited to poorly concealed passive aggression and forceful tones of inside voice. one professor is like “this isn’t even about race!” and another professor is like “this proves he’s a racist!” people are interrupting each other. tensions are rising. a panelist starts saying that poe is like writing a critique of how racist society was, and the racist stuff is there to prove that racism is stupid, and that on a metaphorical level the racist philosophy always loses—
then my professor, perhaps in a bid to prove that he too is a smart literature person, loudly calls: “BUT WHAT ABOUT THE ORANGUTAN?”
some more background: in poe’s well-known short story “the murder in the rue morgue,” two single ladies—a lovely old woman and her lovely daughter who takes care of her, aka super vulnerable and respectable people—are violently killed. the murderer turns out to be not a person, but an orangutan brought back by a sailor who went to like burma or something. and it’s pretty goddamn racially coded, like they reeeeally focus on all this stuff about coarse hairs and big hands and superhuman strength and chattering that sounds like people talking but isn’t actually. if that’s intentional, then he’s literally written an analogy about how black people are a threat to vulnerable white women, which is classic white supremacist shit. BUT if he really only meant for it to be an orangutan, then it’s a whole other metaphor about how colonialism pillages other countries and brings their wealth back to europe and that’s REALLY gonna bite them in the ass one day. klansman or komrade? it all hangs on this.
so the place goes dead fucking silent as every giant ass poe stan in the room is immediately thrust into a series of war flashbacks: the orangutan argument, violently carried out over seminar tables, in literary journals, at graduate student house parties, the spittle flying, the wine and coffee spilled, the friendships torn—the red faces and bulging veins—curses thrown and teaching posts abandoned—panels just like this one fallen into chaos—distant sirens, skies falling, the dog-eared norton critical editions slicing through the air like sabres—the textual support! o, the quotes! they gaze at this madman in numb disbelief, but he could not have known. nay, he was a literary theorist, a 17th-century man, only a visitor to their haunted land. he had never heard the whistle of the mortars overhead. he had never felt the cold earth under his cheek as he prayed for god’s deliverance. and yet he would have broken their fragile peace and brought them all back into the trenches.
much later, when my professor told this story to a poe nerd friend, the guy said the orangutan thing was a one of the biggest landmines in their field. he said it was a reliable discussion ruiner that had started so many shouting matches that some conferences had an actual ban on bringing it up.
so my professor sits there for a second, still totally clueless. then out of the dead silence, the panel moderator stands up in his tweed jacket and yells, with the raw panic of a once-broken man:
Oh no oh no oh no, I have been to a couple of Poe panels and I always wondered why Rue Morgue was never discussed but I’m a shush-violet in big crowds, so I never asked why? Now I know.
Baby It’s Cold Outside discourse is the same as Macbeth discourse.
Explain?
OK, so one of the big debates in Macbeth involves the scene in which Lady Macbeth talks Macbeth into killing King Duncan. People debate strenuously over whether it’s a scene of Lady M pressuring her reluctant husband into it, or whether it’s a scene of her sensing, due to their emotional intimacy, that this murder is something her husband secretly wants and has partially internally decided to do, and is arguing him into it in order to help him give himself permission to do it, in the same way that people see their loved ones wavering over the dessert menu and jump in with things like, “Go on, get the cheesecake, it’s your birthday!” Readers and scholars disagree strenuously about this – we even studied an incident in college in which two 18th century illustrators attended the same performance and happened to draw the scene the day after, producing two images that advanced opposite interpretations even though they’d seen the exact same actors do the exact same performance. It’s a big deal.
In the same way, the Baby, It’s Cold Outside discourse is about whether this is a song about sexual harassment, or whether it’s a woman singing about how she wishes she could spend the night with the guy she just had an excellent date with if only the neighbors wouldn’t talk, and him responding, “Stay, baby, it’s cold out! No one could expect you to go home in this!”
I really don’t know (baby stab his side) King Duncan’s a bro (baby cut through his hide)
I like him a lot (That decrepit old sot?) This plan ain’t so great (But what a king you’d make!)
The guards might worry (Darling, do it in a hurry!) His sons will rush the door (So knock them on the floor.)
I’m not such a knave (Bash his head with a stave) But I’d be a good king (Now you’re starting to think)
The dukes might all talk (But their chatter means naught) Say, love, what do you mean (You’d make such a king)
I simply must go (baby cut through his hide) There’s a war on you know (baby cut through his hide)
But what of his wife? (And what of his life?) It feels like bad luck (But that don’t mean much)
I’ve got a bad premonition (And I’ve got a mission) But that’s just superstition (My love, you’re a vision)
The witches said I’d rule (If they lied they were cruel) So baby let’s stab Stab his siiiiide!
When writing really long and boring essays I like to throw in really unprofessional footnotes to amuse myself. Sometimes I delete them. Sometimes I don’t. Example:
Both of these heroes were also cannibalized by James Joyce in two of the most convoluted and celebrated novels in English literature.1
1) I’ve still yet to have anyone explain to me how Joyce isn’t writing bad fanfic. AU? Check. Pun heavy? Check. Unnecessary gratuitous wank scene? Check. It’s fucking My Immortal Finnegan. Fuck Joyce.
the iliad: Area Man Expected To Work With These Incompetents
the odyssey: Prodigal Asshole Returns
the aeneid: Man Who Thought He’d Lost All Hope Loses Last Additional Bit Of Hope He Didn’t Even Know He Still Had
the satyricon: I Fucked My Way Into This Mess, And I’ll Fuck My Way Out
medea: Relationship Not A Power Struggle, Woman Who’s Winning Reports
the bacchae: Area Man Just In Bad Mood Because He’s Tired And An Awful Human Being
iphigenia at aulis: Guests Forced To Pretend Wedding A Good Thing
agamemnon: Study Finds Expressing Anger In Unhealthy Ways Incredibly Satisfying
oedipus the king: True Courage Is Knowing You’re Wrong But Refusing To Admit It
herodotus’s histories: Historians Admit To Inventing Ancient Greeks
the poetry of catullus: Relationship Definitely Hurtling Toward Something
the ars amatoria: Man’s Relationship Advice Same As His Hunting Tips
the speeches of cicero: Here Are All Of My Opinions
the epigrams of martial: Come On, Lighten Up, I’m Just Being A Total Asshole
Guys who complain about the friendzone often don’t care about their female friends’ personal boundaries, forcing their female friends build more walls up. A good cartoon.
– submitted by Gene
why is he tearing down a wall with an axe
i hate it when your put in the friendzone and made to tear down a wall
Mr. Gorbachev…tear down this friendzone
how you gonna draw some shit that makes you look like Jack Nicholson in The Shining and still feel like you’re the victim
I DON’T *CHOP* UNDERSTAND *CHOP* WHY *CHOP* YOU CAN’T *CHOP* JUST *CHOP* LET ME *CHOP* BONE YOU *CHOP* ON AN INDEFINITE *CHOP* EXCLUSIVE *CHOP* BASIS *CHOP* WHEN *CHOP* I’M *CHOP* SO *CHOP* NIIIIIIIIIIIICE *CHOP*
“I’m going to wall you up now, Fortunato.”
“Ha ha, and then what? 😉 ”
“For the love of God, Montresor!” -Cask of Amontifriendzone, Edgar Allan Poe
Incessantly, I heard a smacking, as of some entitled dipshit whacking, whacking on my chamber door.
Resignedly, I placed another layer, voicing a quiet, repeated prayer, “This dude thinks he’s a player, but I am not a point to score, he should fuck off and bother me no more.”